0; The Dystopia of Today

“Death is an interesting thing, isn't it? It's either sudden or agonizingly slow, with no in-between in any circumstance. A death can bring grief, joy, confusion… It all depends on the person. Even the circumstances can depend on the person, who they were in life. But not always. A “bad” man can have a peaceful death - they often do - and a “good” man can have a painful death.

But what even are “good” and “bad”? They simply cannot be proved, are just a widely believed theory, much like gods. They could exist, or they could just be imaginary, something thought up to keep humanity in check. From “good” and “bad” blossoms guilt and remorse for doing something presumed “bad” by society, and pride and joy for doing something presumed “good”. For instance, ending a human life - yours or someone else's - is “bad”, but saving one is “good”.

So what draws the line between the two? Why are there certain defenses to murder that make it okay? We live in a very morally gray society; “right” and “wrong” are often jumbled together. “Good” men are condemned to death, while “bad” men walk free, are even respected for acting “good” towards the public. Oftentimes, their wrongdoings are only exposed after death, when nobody can even do anything about it. And sometimes, “bad” men are given positions of power before they become “bad”, then are feared so much that nobody can take them off said positions.

Our world is that of a dystopia…”

These are the thoughts that the woman thought when her doorbell rang, thoughts that she'd had many times for a long time, though she didn't dare speak them aloud because, as her thoughts state and she would refuse to admit, she, like millions of others, was afraid to.

But all those thoughts disappeared as soon as she opened the door.

There in her doorway stood a young man, not quite eighteen, looking quite nervous. He was tall, with warm-toned skin and brown eyes that were almost black, his short and curly hair of the same colour. He was wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts, black biker’s gloves covering his hands.

The boy studied the woman nervously. She paused for a moment before unlatching the door and opening it wider.

“Dimitri?” She asked, stepping aside to let him in, “What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with Mister Huntsmann right now?”

The boy, Dimitri, hesitated for a moment before coming in. “I should be honest with you, Pominki. Mister Huntsmann was the leader of the Scorpion Den.”

“No, I know.” Pominki - the woman - replied, shutting and locking the door, re-latching it as well. “What do you mean, ‘was’?”

“You knew?” Dimitri asked, surprised.

“Yes. I’m helping to fund it, Dimitri.” She said, turning towards the boy. “What do you mean, he was the leader, Dimitri?”

“He's dead.” The boy's words were blind and clipped, speaking quickly. He wouldn't make eye contact. Pominki froze.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening. “What happened?”

“I was with him and Crystal just now,” Dimitri said, looking up. “He just… collapsed. The Den’s medics say it was a heart attack.” He waited for a reply from the woman, but he got none. Just wide eyes and bewilderment. “Couldn't call the cops because there was too much risk of them finding out about the Den’s underground activities. Crystal was his right hand, so she took over.”

“She's sixteen.” Pominki said flatly.

“And still more capable than I am.” Dimitri replied. 

“No, I know she's capable, kid,” Pominki said, grabbing her coat from the hanger beside the door. “And I am well aware she was going to take over. But with her age, some of those executives are not going to take it lightly. They already gave her side-eyes for being Huntsmann’s right hand.”

“There's nothing wrong with her being young,” the boy said, stepping aside so that Pominki could reach the door.

“No, there's not.” The woman replied, reaching for said door. “But there are many people who think otherwise. They will try to overthrow her.”

“She'll answer with blood.” Dimitri said.

“And the people will respect or even fear her.” Pominki replied, her head tilting back towards Dimitri. Her eyes were sharp, her expression cold. “Which will make enemies, kid. The Den doesn't appreciate those who oppose it.”

She unlocked the door and opened it once again, the cold night air meeting the warmth of the house. “What are you going to do, Pominki?” Dimitri asked before she could step out, watching her carefully. She didn’t reply.

Dimitri couldn't help but notice how the woman's rings, two golden rings on her middle fingers, glinted oddly under the moonlight. 

The woman ignored Dimitri's questions about her leaving, hurrying off down the road and leaving the door open. The boy stared at where she was just moments before, then shook his head and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He didn’t have a key, though, so it would have to remain unlocked. He left it, figuring that it'd be her fault for forgetting to lock it if someone broke in.

Dimitri picked his motorbike up off from where he'd set it against Pominki's outer wall and rolled it back onto the sidewalk before mounting it and taking his helmet from the handlebar. He revved the engine before breaking off into the mostly empty road, besides the few cars parked to the side. The houses here were all almost exactly the same - three stories and white walls with a front yard big enough to hold a horse and a back yard even bigger, each and every one lined by a white picket fence. The only difference between them were the curtains and the fact that some houses had freshly cut grass and some didn't; even all the mailboxes were the same, pristine, vibrant red.

The boy suddenly swerved out of the way of a car, which was going way past the speed limit and on the wrong side of the road. The car was small and red, and Dimitri was fairly certain he recognized it from somewhere, though he wasn’t sure where. An unfamiliar feeling of dread washed over the boy, though he couldn’t pin where it was coming from. The car? He couldn’t think of why.

He sped the bike up. Red mailboxes and white houses blurred in his peripheral vision as he focused on the road in front of him.

***

Pominki walked calmly down the street. It was a secluded part of town, no picket fences or immaculate symmetry like where she lived. The woman liked it here, here where she could simply walk without being stopped for a conversation by some neighbor. 

Though she couldn’t enjoy the peaceful night just yet. 

Who let a sixteen-year-old be in charge of a mafia? And just because the late boss said so? If Pominki’s being honest, Silvan Huntsman probably wasn’t qualified to lead an organization himself - he left his executives to do all the work.

And then she realized the irony of what she was thinking. The current queen took the throne at fourteen, and Pominki’d never even thought twice about it. Probably because the queen had been running the kingdom long before her mother’s death, because her mother left her to it. Odd, isn’t it, how Pominki feels so apprehensive about Crystal being a leader and yet not at all about the queen?  

She shook her head, clearing all thoughts. The queen wasn’t her problem and she couldn’t do anything about it. Crystal, however, was a different story. Pominki looked up from the ground. The rendezvous point she’d set up with Miskerine years ago was near now.

It then crossed her mind that she’d not sent a message to the man, she’d just ran off to the downside of town and assumed he’d be there. But Miskerine was a smart man, he’d most likely already know what had happened.

She was sure that he’d be there.

The rendezvous point was an old park that not even squirrels went to anymore. As Pominki ducked under a low branch, she took note that the old, rusted swing set had fallen, both swings now on the ground. The monkey bars that connected the two halves of the metal play set had multiple bars missing, some of them lying in the sand on the ground. The climbing net was torn badly, and most of the rocks on the rockwall were gone.

It was like a hurricane had hit the park. Pominki had been here just days before and everything was fine. Now, she found herself wondering what happened. 

But the most important thing about the scene was the man leaning against a tree near the forest. He towered over Pominki even while leaning back. The man lit the cigarette in his mouth and pocketed the lighter he'd used, one the woman hadn't seen in his hand.

“It'd be so easy to pickpocket that.”

Stop.

“To light Miskerine and the whole forest aflame.”

These are the thoughts that killed so many people already. Stop.

Pominki shook her head as the man looked up, his bright blue eyes focusing on her in a glare as he pushed himself off the tree. He knew exactly what she was thinking, his hand covering the pocket he’d put his lighter in.

“Pominki.” His voice low and hostile as he took out the cigarette, smoke escaping from his mouth.

“Miskerine.” Pominki replied, walking closer. The man was at least a foot taller than her, with long, straight black hair that draped over his shoulders. He had pale skin and blue eyes forever locked into a glare. “Huntsmann’s dead.” the woman said.

“Finally,” Miskerine replied flatly. “The man was a danger to society.”

Pominki blinked. She raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s not, and you know it.” He said. 

“Whatever.” Pominki muttered. “Could we focus on not letting the kid get killed while trying to lead a mafia?”

Miskerine hummed. He seemed to be thinking about something. The man’s hand never left his pocket where the lighter sat. “Maybe,” he said, his eyes glinting with something hostile. “If you’d tell her what you did-”

“No.” The woman’s voice was sharp as she cut him off. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I suppose Crystal’s getting no help.” He said coldly. Miskerine took a step towards Pominki, and she took a step back. “You can’t run forever, Zhernov.”

Pominki’s eyes narrowed and, without a word, she turned and left. Miskerine finally took his hand away from his pocket.

***

Crystal was looking through files when Dimitri walked in. The door was open, something that wasn’t typically seen in the Scorpion Den. Crystal was shorter than Dimitri, with brown hair that faded to blond at the ends, pale skin, and the same red eyes Pominki did. A black silk mask hugged her face, covering everything but her right eye. She was wearing what she always was; a black turtleneck, blue jeans, and black boots. 

“Never thought you’d just walk in.” Crystal said flatly, her one visible eye never looking up from the papers in her gloved hands. 

“The door was open.” Dimitri replied, backing up to stand awkwardly in the doorway. Crystal looked up, unamused.

“Well, close it, then.” She told him.

“So- sorry, sorry.” The boy stammered, hurriedly coming back into the room and closing the door behind him.

The Scorpion Den offices were typically much smaller than this one, but there was an exception for the Boss. The walls were painted a pristine wine red, the floor and ceiling black. A window expanded across the back wall, casting bright light into the room. A long shelf sat under it, lined with foliage. Hanging plant baskets fell from the ceiling on either side of the room, and bookshelves lined the left and right walls. It gave an almost eerie feel, knowing how from such a calm place sprouted the roots of the Scorpion Den.

“Is this about Huntsmann or Pominki?” Crystal asked Dimitri, looking back down at the papers in her hands. He couldn’t see her face, but her tone sounded almost bored. Like she expected this would happen.

“Pominki, but…” Dimitri replied, trailing off.

“But if we talk about Pominki, we’ll start talking about Huntsmann, too.” Crystal finished for him, looking back up and sighing. “I’m guessing telling her didn’t go down well?”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, it did, just… she wasn’t happy about you taking over.”

“Oh?” Crystal asked. “And why is that?”

“From the way she worded it, she sounded like she was thinking a revolt would occur.” The boy said. He shifted, pulling at his gloves.

“How ironic for her to think that.” Crystal muttered.

“What?” Dimitri looked up.

“She was the one who started the Spider’s Riot in the first place, Dimitri.”

1; The Ascendancy of Fear

Pominki did not return home after her meeting with Miskerine. Instead, she went straight to the Stahlwerk Orva, an abandoned steel plant in the outskirts of the kingdom. Ivy and moss choked out every surface, having been given decades to grow. The place looked as if nothing had even dared to come close in years.

But, of course, looks can be deceiving. 

Pominki glanced around, making sure no one was watching her. The only thing watching her was a stray cat. 

“Its eyes are human.”

No, they’re not.

“It’s watching you.”

Perhaps it is. Pominki turned away.

Well, even if the cat was watching her, it wouldn’t snitch. Even if it was able to, it’d know better not to.

Right?

Approaching the Stahlwerk, Pominki let the thought of the strange cat exit her mind. She walked across the mossy concrete ground, soaking her socks and reminding herself that she hadn’t put on shoes or locked the door before she left. Oh well.

The Stahlwerk, like every steel plant, was a large cluster of buildings. The warehouses no longer held anything but cobwebs and the machinery had stopped working long ago. That’s what the queen wanted the public to think, anyway. 

The main warehouse, a large building in the middle of the Stahlwerk called the Morgenstern, no longer worked as it was built to. It had become a meeting spot of some sorts, one that Pominki found herself at many times. Chatter could be heard within, many voices overlapping in many different conversations.

Every voice stopped when Pominki walked in, sighing.

“The Meii apparently aren’t going to help with anything,” Pominki said, closing the Stahlwerk doors behind her.

“What would we even need help with?” One man asked, glancing up from where cards lay out in front of him.

Pomiki raised an eyebrow, walking forward like she owned the place. “Huntsmann died.” She said, adjusting her rings. “Sixteen-year-old took power in the Den.”

“In this society?” Another said, his eyes narrowing. “Kid’s gonna be overrun with people trying to take power for themselves.” 

“Thanks, captain obvious.” The woman beside him deadpanned. “Why do you think she’s telling us about this?” She looked back up at Pominki. “Does the queen know?”

“Do you think the queen knows, Charlie?”

“No.” Pominki said instead. “I don't have any way to get to her at the moment.”

The woman, Charlie, sighed. Then she paused for a moment, “hold on, don't you, like, know Mijirou’s right hand?”

“No, I know his girlfriend.” Pominki replied. “Who, by the way, is the teenager currently running the mafia.”

The man with the cards picked out one card but didn't show it to her. “Why are we so concerned about this one criminal organization, anyway?” He asked, studying the card.

Pominki, momentarily stunned by his question, stared at him in what looked like disbelief. “Do you know nothing?” She hissed, “if the Scorpion Den falls, so does the kingdom. I don't think you understand how much the Den holds up Silvarun?” Her eye twitched, just slightly. “If it's not there doing that anymore, then this city, the capital, falls. And from there, New Mercy itself.”

Silence fell over the Morgenstern. Sure, everyone knew that the Scorpion Den held up Silvarun, the capital of the kingdom, but nobody really thought what would happen if it fell. It wouldn’t take long for the news to get to the queen, and there was no telling what she or her siblings would do to prevent the fall of New Mercy. They were realizing that now.

“Pominki,” the man with the cards said, unshaken. “There are fifty-four cards to a deck. Just two stand out.”

Pominki stared at him for a moment. “What?”

He flipped the card to show her. “Be one of the Jokers. You and the queen are possibly the only people who can delay the fall of this kingdom.” He smiled, a cold glint in his eyes. “Though, of course, you could only delay. No haven lasts forever.”

***

Crystal wasn’t surprised at Huntsmann’s death. He had been a man of many enemies, and one of them had to have gotten to him at some point. But she’d never expected him to die of natural causes.

No, something didn’t add up here. The man was relatively young and he had no notable health conditions to speak of. Even the Den medics confirmed: the heart attack was unlikely. But there wasn’t much else it could be. Except for one thing.

A heart attack gun.

It was a deadly weapon developed by the CIA during the cold war some thousands of years ago. It shot small, frozen darts of shellfish poison that, once shot and taken place below the victim’s skin, melted into their veins and caused the symptoms of a heart attack. It was almost indistinguishable from the actual thing. There was no way to tell.

Pominki, however; Pominki would be able to easily get her hands on a heart attack gun. Too easily. No matter what she may tell the Keiiko, her little gang of military officers she often met at the Stahlwerk, she knew the queen directly. And Crystal knew that Queen Synopo owed Pominki some favours. 

Typically, Crystal thought that Kyori should stop oversharing to her what he knows as the queen’s apprentice. But now? It’s important. 

Crystal sifted through the documents again. Now that Dimitri had left, it was eerily quiet beside the rustling of paper. Documentation upon documentation on Huntsmann and his enemies and allies. She was searching for one name in particular: Sora Mijirou, the queen’s little brother. Crystal knew his name was there somewhere, she knew that Huntsmann had been stupid enough to make an enemy out of him.

And Sora would be Pominki’s opening to the heart attack gun, pairing with the favours that the queen owed her.

See, while Synopo ran the kingdom, Sora did something a bit more nefarious. He dealt weapons to anyone able to pay. Though this was against the laws that Synopo herself set, she looked upon his activities with amusement. From what Crystal heard, the queen was a peculiar, contradicting woman. 

Indeed, Crystal did find Sora’s name upon that list, right under Pominki herself. That was all the evidence that she needed to say that Pominki did it. But one thing vexed her about the whole thing.

Pominki would never have done such a thing.

Never in her life would that woman put the kingdom in such a danger as letting a teenager take over the Den. Even Crystal herself knew that just being in charge put the Den, and the kingdom, at risk. And Pominki was not stupid enough to kill the very man that kept the underground running. As far as Crystal was aware, no one was as stupid as to kill Huntsmann.

But the heart attack just didn’t make any sense. And neither did Pominki killing him, but Pominki was the only one who had an opening to a weapon as dangerous as the heart attack gun. Wasn’t she?

Crystal’s eye scanned the list again until she found one name in particular that made her jump.

Miskerine Kauber. 

2; Underground Monopoly

“The Meii have made their move,” Crystal said sharply. She was walking so quickly that Dimitri could barely keep up with her now. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, moving to catch up to her.

She didn’t even look back at him. “Miskerine killed Huntsmann.” 

“He died of a heart attack.” Dimitri replied, puzzled. “Crystal, what is going on?”

The girl didn’t reply. She just kept walking. “Crystal,” Dimitri said again. “Crystal, he died of a heart attack, didn’t he? What are you not telling me?”

“Have you ever heard of a heart attack gun?” Crystal asked finally, answering him.

“Yeah,” He said, “No one can get their hands on one unless…”

“Unless it’s given to them by the royal family.” Crystal finished for him, making a sharp turn. Dimitri rushed after her.

“Or they stole it.” Dimitri replied.

“You and I both know how unlikely that would be.” Crystal hissed.

“Fine. But where are we going?” he asked her. “What could we possibly do?”

That made the girl stop. Dimitri stopped, too, almost knocking her over. He stepped back, and froze. Crystal was… laughing. “Dimitri, what can the Scorpion Den not do?” She looked back at him, her one visible eye gleaming. “We are two of the most powerful people in the kingdom, boy, right under the Mijirous. We are the boss and right-hand executive of the Den.” She turned back, away from him. “We could do anything, as long as we don’t cause too much ruckus and disturb the queen.”

“No, we could even do that.” Dimitri replied as it dawned on him exactly what the Scorpion Den really could do. “She’d watch in amusement. Knowing the queen, she already knows what you’re about to do.”

Crystal paused. “I suppose,” she mused, “Queen Synopo wouldn’t care, would she? Unless we set unrest to the public.”

“And if that’s all we have to avoid…” Dimitri started. He trailed off, horror washing over him as he realized what, exactly, the Scorpion Den; what he could do. He suddenly understood why so many people joined out of search for power. Because the Den was one of the two pillars holding up their society; the Den was the thing holding up the economy. Which is why it had been ignored for decades by queens and kings before Synopo.

And then he remembered the red car.

“Crystal.” Dimitri said suddenly. 

“What?” She replied, stopping at the elevator.

“Do you know anyone who drives a little red car?” He asked her.

“Yeah. Kyori does. Why?” The elevator opened. The two of them stepped in. Crystal sent for the basefloor. 

Dimitri furrowed his brow. No, that wasn’t it. That car wasn’t Kyori’s. “No reason.” He said. Crystal sighed.

The elevator suddenly felt smaller than it really was. It was like he knew something, like he knew exactly what that car meant, whose it was, but he couldn’t think. Dimitri’s head was scrambled and he couldn’t figure out why.

Crystal watched the boy closely. “Dimitri,” she said carefully. “Where and when did you see this car?”

“Pominki’s street.” Dimitri replied slowly. “As for time.. I don’t know, seven?”

Crystal glanced at the clock above the elevator doors. “It’s eight,” she said. 

“Is it?” he asked. Then he paused, “why are you asking about time?”

“Pominki ran out on you, didn’t she?” the girl asked, taking out her phone.

“Yes, why?” Dimitri replied. He knew she knew something. And he knew she was thinking about something, and that it wasn’t Kyori’s little red car.

“She was meeting with Miskerine.”

Dimitri felt as if the air had been ripped from his lungs.

***

“Pominki, what a curious individual. She has connections.” The woman thought. “Crystal, however, is digging too deep.”

“Tea, ma’am?” A well-dressed man asked. She looked up.

“Please.” she said, handing him two crystal daggers. He nodded.

“Dimitri saw the car.” The man handed her tea. She thanked him and he left the room. “That boy is a liability. They all are.”

The woman looked up at the room around her. She stood and locked the door. The rings on both her middle fingers glinted ominously. She paid them no mind as she drew the blinds.

The large room was shrouded in darkness, the light was blocked out. The red, circular rug and white walls contrasted in the light, proving as tasteful design, but now in the dark they did not matter. 

“As I thought. Everything is working out perfectly.” The woman knew things she shouldn’t have. Like who the boss of the Scorpion Den was, and the danger the kingdom was in as the organization wobbled, like a table with a leg too short. “The next step is the hard part.”

And there was no telling what she would do to keep her kingdom running.

She took a book from the shelf and lit a candle.

***

Pominki found her door wide open when she got home. Well. Either she got robbed, or Dimitri didn’t shut the door. Pominki bet on the former. She walked into her house, watching carefully. Everything was still there, exactly where she left it. Nothing was broken, nothing was stolen. Maybe Dimitri did just forget to close the door.

Pominki glanced around again, just to make sure. Then she paused. No. Something was wrong. She could hear the page of a book turning. From the kitchen. Did someone break into her house just to read?

She reached for the couch, taking off a cushion. Underneath was a box, one she’d hidden years ago. One she’d opened many times since. The woman took the lid off of the box and froze. Her daggers were gone. Two, pristinely sharp crystal daggers, gone. But there was no way anyone could know. The only person she’d told about them was Silvian Huntsmann, and he’d never told anyone either.

Who would know to look under the couch cushions?

Pominki heard another page flip. Who was in her house?

Slowly, she inched towards the kitchen.

“The queen.”

Her mind said.

“She’s here.”

No.

“You can’t deny it. Who else would guess the couch?”

Shut up. She’s not here. She never would have known.

Pominki turned the corner into the kitchen. Then she saw the woman. Her mind was right. The queen was in her house.

Queen Synopo was a tall woman, standing high over Pominki even though she was three years younger. She had dark skin with long, straight dark brown hair tied in a ponytail that reached past her knees. Her eyes were a deep maroon, and they looked wrong. They were human, too human to really be human. Like something else was wearing a person’s skin. And it was sitting on Pominki’s kitchen counter.

The queen looked up from her book, a wide, pearly white grin spreading across her face. She snapped her book shut, not bothering to even bookmark her page. “Pominki, old friend!” She said, unserious as ever.

“We are not friends.” Pominki hissed, backing away from her.

Synopo sighed dramatically. “Oh, come on. You didn’t kill all those people for me just because, did you, Zhernov-”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Oh?” the queen raised an eyebrow. She slid off of Pominki’s counter, her smile turning venomous. “And when did you get the guts to talk to royalty like that?” Pominki said nothing, but her glare sharpened. She stepped back.

“I don’t remember you being so disrespectful,” Synopo said, clasping her hands together. She glanced up, tilting her head as if she were thinking. But Pominki knew better. She knew that whatever thinking the taller woman had done, it had been done before she’d gotten there. The queen predicted this. Synopo looked back at Pominki. “Zhernov. That’s Russian for ‘grindstone’, is it not? Are you Russian, Pominki?”

“You know very well what I am.” Pominki replied coldly. “It’s you who gave me that name."

“So harsh, you are,” Synopo replied, her smile widening. She slid her book from the counter. “Tell me, have you read Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment?”

Pominki’s red eyes flicked from the queen to the book. “I have,” she said. She immediately regretted it. Everything the queen asks is a test.

“Raskolnikov broke the law.” Synopo said, waving around the book. “And he received punishment.” Her smile suddenly became dangerous and cold. “You’d tell me if you were breaking my laws, wouldn’t you?”

Pominki froze.

“She knows about them.”

No, she doesn’t.

“The Keiiko were never going to stay hidden.”

Yes, they were.

“There’s no telling what she’d do to keep her kingdom running.”

Shut up.

“I would.” Pominki lied, throwing all her thoughts aside.

“Really?” Synopo asked her, tilting her head. “I think you’re lying.”

Pominki felt her chest tighten. She could really use those daggers right about now. No, she’s no match for Synopo either way… “What do you mean?” she replied.

Synopo took a step forward. Pominki backed away. “Does the name… Keiiko sound familiar to you?”

3; Archive of Crime

“...Maybe don’t aim your gun at random pedestrians?” Dimitri suggested, staggering back as Crystal pointed her gun, undoing the safety.

“I don’t think you know the definition of either random or pedestrian.” Crystal hissed. Her one visible eye was locked on the man across the street. He smiled.

“I think I do!” Dimitri yelped. Then he looked at the man, really looked at him. The streets were nearly empty, the few people that were there knowing better than to interfere, especially in this city. The man looked… odd. He wasn’t normal, for sure, dressed formally in a suit and hat. Dimitri couldn’t see his face, he wasn’t even sure if the man had a face. “Who even is that?” He asked Crystal.

“A man walking towards us with daggers in his hands.” The girl replied coldly, backing away.

Oh. Yeah. That, too. The man had two, pristinely sharp crystal blades in his hands. Dimitri hadn’t seen them until Crystal pointed them out. “Oh.” He said, opening the pouch strapped to his leg. He grabbed his throwing knives from it. “Aren’t those Pominki’s?”

“Yeah. But she doesn’t let anyone near them, let alone touch them.” The girl replied. “Something must’ve happened to her.”

Suddenly, she jumped back as the man threw one of the blades. He had remarkably good aim. It sliced through Crystal’s sleeve, blood dripping down. Dimitri could see what looked like burn scars on her arm. The girl froze, staggering back, eyes widening.

“Crystal!” Dimitri grit his teeth, reaching for the dagger. The man across the street still had one more. The boy knew that Pominki would never want him to touch it, but…

He froze. As soon as Dimitri’s hand touched the blade, a surge of something inhuman dashed through his arm. Like if he brushed pure power. He ripped his hand away, gasping. He heard Crystal firing her gun, but he barely registered it. How could Pominki have used these almost every day? How could that man wield them without being completely overwhelmed?

What, exactly, were those daggers?

“Dimitri!” Crystal hissed “Get up! We’re fighting!” 

Dimitri looked up, freezing. He hadn’t noticed how close the man had gotten. He stood quickly, retrieving his own knives from where he’d dropped them. Crystal’s gun fired again at the man, but he was too quick. It didn’t hit him. 

Dimitri threw a knife. The man didn’t notice until too late, jumping to the side and yet still getting hit on his leg. It dug itself into his thigh, stunning him for just long enough for Crystal to get a shot on his shoulder. But he recovered quickly. Too quickly.

“How did he…” Dimitri started, but the answer came to him before he could finish.

Crystal stepped backwards, reloading her gun. “Synopo’s butler.” she muttered.

Dimitri threw another knife. The man jumped back, the weapon merely grazing his pristine sleeve. “I thought that was a myth,” he replied.

“Well, apparently not.” Crystal hissed. The man kept moving. How long had he been walking? Every time Dimitri looked back, he seemed even farther away.

“Do we even need to fight him?” Dimitri asked. “He never reaches us. He gets farther from us.”

Crystal shook her head. “No, we don’t. But Pominki might kill us if we don’t get her other blade.”

Dimitri shuddered. He remembered the feeling of touching even one of those. And Crystal must’ve, too. Her one visible eye narrowed as she stepped back again.